The Differences Between Singing and Screaming
by AsylumInmateNo1
Summary: Derek hears Rachel sing for the first time. Oneshot.


**AN: I know, I know. I, Jules, should be working on my chapter of Here's to Us, but this got stuck in my head and I just couldn't shake it. In my defense, it began as potential for a future scene in HtU, but considering the current drama happening in HtU, I knew it wouldn't be happening soon. But I **_**had**_** to write it, guys. I had to.**

**So, here's it is, a quick little Haleberry oneshot, because they are my favorite crackship, apparently. Enjoy.**

**Aaaaaand,**

**Go.**

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He knew she could sing. He had never put much thought into it, really, but he had overheard her and Quinn talking about Glee enough to know that she did, in fact, sing, and was considered to be the head of the high school club.

Scott and Stiles had also talked about it, little comments he ignored about how great she was and that he should really hear her sometime.

Jackson even begrudgingly complimented her, and that alone should have clued Derek in to just how _amazingly_ _awesome_ his girl's voice was.

(He already had known, somewhat, just in a _very_ different manner, when she was gasping and grasping, raking nails down his back, shouting her pleasure in his ear, long wordless screams interrupted only with cries of his name.)

She had never really sung around him, though. She talked, sure. A lot, actually. She talked a lot. Or they were fighting or kissing or fucking, and none of those were really singing opportunities.

He never heard her at Glee functions either—he was not allowed near the high school campus, due to be accused for _murder_, thanks to Scott and Stiles. She hadn't had any off-school-grounds competitions since they'd been together, so that was out as well.

And, if he was truly honest with himself, he had no actual desire to watch groups of semi-talented high school students sing show tunes and bad rock and pop covers on stage, while he suffocates in the audience surrounded by heavy smelling colognes, cloying perfumes, sweat and arousal and other bodily scents that press in and magnify in large crowds.

He never thought it would come up, really. Rachel herself had never brought up any upcoming competitions or shows, aside from discussing them with Quinn.

When she did finally mention an event, Derek was too distracted to actually pay attention. It wasn't his fault, really. Her eyes were shining in happiness, her smiles wide and bright and brilliant, sending shivers of arousal down his spine, while at the same time making him feel at peace, at _home._ It was a lovely mouth, one of his favorite physical parts of her. (Fourth, if he wanted to number them.) And, as established, damn distracting. He kept picturing those lips, pressed against his own, sliding between his teeth and down his cock, red and shiny and perfect.

He had tuned back in when she asked what he thought about…_something_, and, occupied with unhooking her bra without her noticing, he agreed, without knowing what it was, exactly he agreed to. (He did, however, successfully undo her bra clasp, which led to a romp that left them both naked and sweaty and sated on the floor of his living room.)

He didn't learn what he'd said yes to until Scott appeared on his doorstep, asking if they could carpool—Stiles had apparently snuck onto the Glee bus so he could ride up with Quinn. Scott gave him directions periodically, whenever he had to turn or merge or exit. They ended at a high school three towns over, the marquee proudly announcing it to be the host of this year's Regional Glee Club Competition. Derek had glared at it until Scott pulled him away, to two reserved front row seats in the auditorium.

Derek sat uncomfortably through two groups, wincing when they hit off key, resisting the urge to hit Stiles for being annoying, and wishing he was anywhere else.

When the third group was announced, Scott leaned over and let Derek know that this group was why they were here—Rachel and Quinn were coming to the stage.

The curtain rose and Derek sucked in a breath. He'd never actually seen Rachel in a dress, which was a gross oversight on his part, and something that needed happen more often. She was fucking beautiful. It was short and flared, red, black, and strapless. He wanted to get a closer look, preferably alone, on his bed, where it would be ripped off her lithe and tight little body.

And then she opened her mouth, that beautiful girl, and the world slowed down around him.

He knew she could sing.

He didn't know she could sing like _that._ Her voice made everything fuzzy and shiny and soft, made him want to close his eyes and let the sound of her take over his senses. He wanted to listen to her singing for the rest of his life. She was _amazing_ and _wonderful_ and _incredible_, and a bunch of other adjectives he was sure he'd learned in an English class at some point, though all he could think of at the moment was _yes, good, perfect, Mine._

His girl was a star. His girl was the fucking best.

The judges knew it too, apparently, because the New Directions (and who the hell came up with a name that sounded like 'nude erections'?) won the competition. Derek was all too happy to give Rachel a long, deep, congratulatory kiss before she got back on the bus, especially because he did not like the looks the tall dopey kid kept giving her.

He beat the bus back to her high school, hauling her into the Camaro, happy to see she was still in that damn red dress.

It was going to look so good, lying in pieces on his floor while he worked on his newest mission—making Rachel sing.

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**AN: I told you it was short (and crappy). It really was just a quick scene caught in my brain. Love you all and thanks for reading!**


End file.
